


Hungry Hearts

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 15 Inspired [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Castiel (Supernatural), Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Bad Cooking, Cooking, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Fluff and Angst, Food, Forgiveness, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Jensen's Music, Kissing, Laughter, M/M, Makeup, Misha's Cookbook, Pining Dean Winchester, Regretful Dean Winchester, Remorseful Dean Winchester, Season/Series 15, Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:30:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Sam brings Cas home, except it's not the Cas that Dean remembers. Being on his own changed him, his angel colder. And he can't call Cas his angel anymore. Mainly because he hasn't been his angel for a while. Both metaphorically and literally.Living with a fallen Cas has Dean walking on broken glass, especially since he prayed an apology to him when he couldn't hear it. Having torn off the Band-aid to a still-bleeding wound, will Dean broach the rupture between them for closure? What can possibly aid him in a terrifying act of vulnerability.He might not be good with words... but food's never let him down.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Season 15 Inspired [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517543
Comments: 4
Kudos: 136





	Hungry Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> So I have not yet watched "Atomic Monsters"... I wanted to write this first. But I am going to watch the newest episode, and write some codas for that. Because I've seen stuff on tumblr and have Ideas(tm).
> 
> But this also came to me and the idea was AMAZING and I wanted to write. Thank you Misha for posting the picture that inspired this.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean dawdles on the web, surfing between different sites. Leaves a collection of shorts called ‘TikToks’ on Yotube to read an article about the latest reboot from his childhood. Ignores the suffocating awkwardness that ballooned in the kitchen after Cas strolled in a few minutes ago.

He glanced up when Cas entered, thinking it was Sam, ready to tell him how funny kids have gotten. Except his brother hadn’t returned yet. Cas froze under the door jamb, staring at him with wide eyes. Dean mirrored his dumb expression, finger tapping as each knot of his spine stiffened one after the other. His jaw hung clumsily with the lump of an unsaid sentence. Swallowing it, Dean thought of something else to say to the other man.

Cas rebooted before he could. He nodded with a muttered “hello” and sped over to the fridge. Dean parroted, firing off a finger gun and then hung his head in shame at his response.

Ten minutes passed, Dean still hadn’t come up with anything to say and Cas tore up the kitchen searching for something. Returning to the fridge he looks inside one final time and shuts it with a growl. “Why isn’t there anything to _ eat _!”

Dean answers, eyes trained on the laptop screen. “Sam went out to get groceries over an hour ago.”

“And he’s not back yet?”

“Dude, why’re you complaining anyway. It’s not like you can…” He pauses, mind catching up with his voice. When he gathers the courage to look away from his device Dean finds Cas balefully glaring at him.

“I’m _ hungry _ , Dean,” Cas says, “Or did you forget that happens to me now. _ Again _.”

He winces, embarrassment coloring his cheeks and popping the balloon surrounding them. Its heavy plastic weighs on his shoulders with the forceful reminder that his angel had become like him - _ human _. With all their flaws and shortcomings. “Right… sorry.”

Cas rolls his eyes, opening and shutting a cupboard in the blink of an eye. “So there’s really nothing here to _ eat _?”

Dean shrugs, swinging his legs out from under the table to stand. He moseys over to the fridge, careful to avoid Cas by taking the long way around. Inside he finds a sparse amount of food scattered to their own corners like their owners’.

“Seems that way,” he tells Cas.

His former angel mutters more to himself, stomping towards the exit. “Of course… there’s not much of _ anything _ here, is there?”

A knife jumps from a drawer and twists itself into his heart. Dean reacts, “I wouldn’t say that.”

The sound of footsteps pause, Dean checking on Cas to find him under the door jamb once more. Hand on the edges, fingers tight. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Dean races through his maze-like thoughts for sense, chasing it to give Cas a reason to stay this time. Brow furrowed, Dean peers into the fridge for an answer. Finds it between the inch of milk and the three eggs having a party. “There might not be much, but…” Dean grabs the ingredients, “all together, they can make… _ something _?”

Cas scoffs, leaning against the doorway. “_ Really _?” Voice dripping with sarcasm, nothing in him gives any evidence he buys what Dean tries to sell. A harsh spotlight burns Dean’s skin, makes sweat roll down every pore. The harshness of Cas’s eye makes him doubt his hastily thrown together plan, insecure that his former angel won’t entertain him. Like he used to.

“_ Yeah _ …” he continues, hedging softly, “I… uh, I don’t know _ what _ exactly. But you can make _ something _.” Swallowing fear Dean moves to Cas and shoves the food into his hands, smile shaky. “Come on, Cas. If we put our heads together…”

His lip wobbles. Dean pours more energy into his smile, transforming into a more innocent and friendly version of himself. Create further distance from the beast that tore into Cas all those months ago.

It hurts staring at him this long, the memory of how haunted Cas looked that night fighting from the depths of his freezer. Dean fights it, presses on the cold, metal door with all his might. Except he isn’t strong enough. And while he kept that memory from breaking free and turning him into a mute, shambling mess, others slipped through the cracks.

Like when Cas finally returned. Trudging in after Sam, battered and bruised. Dean scurried towards them in concern. “Cas?” he asked, “Cas, what happened -”

“Vampires.”

At a loss, Dean’s hand stayed frozen in mid-air. “Vamps?” he asks, “You let them get the drop on you, bud… Cas?”

Sam glanced at him in warning, Dean understanding too late. Cas squinted at him like he was a lesser-demon, ready to be smote into unexistence. He ground out each word like they were glass. “They’re _ stronger _ than humans.”

“But you’re… not human?”

Not only did he step in it, he did so barefoot.

“He’s not an angel anymore, Dean,” Sam told him later, after Cas stormed towards his room. “He _ fell _-”

“He _fell_?!? Why didn’t he say anything?”

“Because,” Sam clapped his shoulder, “he didn’t think you’d _care_.” Left him in the main room, alone, like he deserved. Wallowing in self-pity and drowning in a bottle of Jack.

Then he thinks of his prayer to Cas - oh, his _ prayer _. The pent-up confession of every feeling he bottled up. Alone in his room after a whirlwind hunt that left him more exhausted than ever. Dean spoke truth to the decorative guns and dusty mixtapes, eyes squeezed shut in hope that he could make his prayer more powerful. That Cas would still hear it if he stuck his fingers in his ears and tried drowning him out. Hear how sorry he was for how much of an ass he resembled and the real fear that controlled him. Hear that losing him never gets easier, and each time he got him back he squandered their time together - that he doesn’t deserve a second chance. Hear the longing trembling inside, a love so strong he began crying because of it.

Except when he finished there wasn’t a call or a text, only his own laboured breathing.

Dean figured he acted too late. No apology good enough to repair what he and Cas had. Accepted his miserable ending with a defeated sigh.

The next memory plays on, of Dean asking after his prayer. Glutton for punishment, needing to hear the other man fully explain how it felt knowing Dean’s most inner secrets.

“Even if you did _ pray _ ,” Cas used finger-quotes, expounding on Dean’s hypothetical approach, “I probably didn’t hear it. The first thing to go was my ability to use _ angel radio _ … I was alone. More alone than I’ve ever been. But then again… that happened _ before _ my antennae was torn from me.”

It was the most they’d ever spoken to each other since Cas moved back to the Bunker. Every other interaction was rushed, Cas leaving moments into Dean’s arrival. Taking books with him or suddenly having chores to do. He couldn’t leave the laundry room with Dean blocking the exit. Forcing a conversation in an attempt to soothe the termites biting under his skin.

When Cas told him what he needed to know, though, Dean let his former angel push him aside in his haste to flee. Too confused on how to feel learning this new tidbit.

Whether having his message left unread eased his troubled soul, or if it disrupted it further. Because admitting it made it easier to breathe the next morning. Dean was disappointed, but free.

Freedom evaporated, he wears his heavy chains once more. They’re still warm.

Cas draws him from his head by finally moving, inspecting the ingredients. “You really think I can make something… _ edible _, with what’s hear in the Bunker?”

“Yeah, you got eggs… milk…” Dean waves his hands behind him, “the base is all there, the rest is really garnish.”

He raises a sharp brow at him. “I doubt you believe that given how much you stress about _ cooking _.”

Dean blanches, chuckling nervously. “Well, that’s because I’ve gone a little soft. Having a kitchen meant I could really choose what I wanted to eat instead of using whatever was on hand. When I was a kid I…” his voice grows small, remembering another sad memory - this time, Cas-free - “I would have to make do with whatever dad left us. Sometimes we didn’t have milk _ or _ eggs. A lot of cans and dry goods though… would _ not _ recommend cereal with water.”

“It’s not the same,” Cas agrees, soft like the feathers he shed, “I know.”

“Right…” Dean turns from Cas, too amped up to look at the other man and not burst into disgusting sobs. He fiddles with the drawer, pulling utensils out to busy himself. “We’ll get started on whatever it is we’re cooking right away!”

“We?” Cas asks, “Dean, I can cook on my own -”

“But you shouldn’t _ have _ to -”

“What if I _ want _ to?”

“Then… then…” Dean examines a spatula, frowning, “Then you can. You can cook what you want and I’ll cook what _ I _ want.”

Cas sighs, placing the milk and eggs on the counter. “_ You’re _hungry?”

“...Yes?”

“Dean -”

“It’s a free country, Cas,” Dean says, “If you can be hungry than so can I… you don’t have a monopoly on hunger.”

Cas’s fingers drumming on the counter fill his ear while he waits for a rebuttal. “Fine,” he says, easing Dean’s racing heartbeat, “as long as you don’t get in my way.”

“You won’t notice me,” Dean agrees, because it’s _ something _.

Nodding, Cas reaches for a whisk and the eggs. “Good.” Cas walks forward, Dean pressed against the island to avoid him. Grip tight around the smooth marble of the counter, Dean counts down from ten and then starts on his own creation.

Only he can’t think in silence. Especially since it’s a special silence, made all the more distracting by having Cas so close and being unable to talk to him. So Dean leaves his station and returns to his laptop, clicking around until he finds a playlist and cranks the volume to its loudest setting.

“What’s that?”

Dean shrugs. “Music,” he says, the singer’s voice crooning through the speakers, “Just typed in country and hit the first thing I found.”

Cas hums. “Not rock?”

“...Not really in a rock ‘n’ roll kind of mood.”

“I see… what’s the name of this song?”

He reads the title of the video. “Cannonball.”

“It’s very nice…” Cas turns back to his creation, whisking the eggs in a bowl. Dean inflates with the desire to continue their conversation, only he can’t. Instead he waddles over to the counter and carries on with cooking.

Between pouring what’s left of the milk into a saucepan and dumping the remaining shredded cheese into it, Dean wonders if he and Cas will ever return to the way it was. In the next beat he asks himself whether he wants them to or not.

Being alone meant Dean had a lot of time to reflect and he realized that his and Cas’s bond, no matter how profound, wasn’t working for him. Wasn’t healthy. Wasn’t… _ enough _ . As much as he _ wants _ Cas to accept an apology and forget the mess Dean knows that wouldn’t be fair. Dean made a mess, and he couldn’t learn until his nose was buried deep in it. He promised himself that if, by some odd miracle, Cas forgave him things would change.

Namely himself.

On the top of the list, Dean wouldn’t take him for granted. Wouldn’t expect him to fall in line and go along with whatever he said. If Cas needed him to, Dean would spend every day reassuring him that his place in their family wasn’t as a guard dog. His ‘C’ would join Dean’s initials on the table the second he asked.

He hasn’t, though. Hasn’t said much of anything to Dean. They’ve been in the kitchen for thirty minutes together and Cas spoke for three.

Dean tries, but there’s only so much bullshit he can spout before he chokes on his feelings. A war wages inside him over swallowing and repressing or vomiting them all over Cas’s shoes. Casualties heavy on both sides, victory far from either sides’ grasp. So they stay packed tight in his chest, and will most likely die there -

“Dean?”

He startles, squeezing the last bits of ketchup onto the pan. “Yes?”

Cas frowns at his cooking, a horrid green tinting his cheeks. “What… are you making?”

Tracking his gaze, Dean stares into his concoction without any clue what happened. It’s a swirl of colors, most noticeably red since the ketchup drips from the bottle into it. Unable to admit to Cas that he doesn’t know, Dean panics. “It’s a secret,” Dean lies, “If I told you, then you’d want to have it.”

“Trust me,” Cas winces, “that won’t happen.”

“You’re only seeing it be _ made _ ,” he continues, “but, like, when I’m done it’ll be the most appetizing thing ever.” Dean begs his mouth to stop, only it ignores him. “Better than _ pie _.”

“_ Really _?”

He nods. “Found it in this cookbook - y’know, one of those good ones by a celebrity where every recipe comes with a story.” Dean exchanges the bottle with a spoon and begins stirring the mixture together, shuddering as it squelches. “Figured now’d be the perfect time to try it.”

“Now?” his former angel asks, “When the Bunker barely has enough ingredients for _ regular _ food. It just so happens to have all you need for this… recipe?”

“Christ, Cas, I’m being _ adventurous _ . Maybe you want to play it safe but I’m in the mood for something _ new _.”

Dean bites his tongue, regret slamming into him after raising his voice. Fearfully glancing at Cas, he prepares for the other man to leave him again. Pack up and move on to another life with people who deserve him.

Cas doesn’t. He watches Dean with a curious glint in his eyes, expression neutral instead of the stormy cloud that normally settled over them when in Dean’s presence. “Adventurous?” he asks, “If that’s the mood for tonight… then I hope you don’t mind if I’m _ also _… adventurous.”

A shiver races up his spine at Cas’s tone, Dean excited by it. “Not at all…”

Settled, Cas opens the fridge and gathers a carrot and a package of sliced ham. “Your recipe,” he starts, “doesn’t need these, right? I’d hate to… _ mess it up _.”

“Never,” Dean says. Cas frowns, squeezing the carrot too hard. Dean continues, “I mean… you can have them for whatever you’re working on… recipe didn’t call for ‘em anyway… in fact it said I should avoid carrots and… and ham…”

“...Right,” Cas mutters, walking away, “Because avoiding is _ exactly _ what you do…”

Sourness curls his lips. “Wait!” he calls to Cas, stopping him. Holding his hand out, Dean asks, “Ham?”

Cas arches his brows, “I thought you said the recipe -”

“Screw it,” he says, “Going a little off script… s’called being _ adventurous _.”

“Adventurous… right?” He slaps a piece of ham into Dean’s hand. “Have fun.”

“You too.”

They go back to cooking, except not like before. The energy in the room ramps up, as Dean and Castiel find their paths crossing. Digging in the fridge or the cupboards or the pantry for more food. Asking each other if they need whatever they found and, ultimately, sharing when in stubborn pride they said ‘yes’.

Dean realizes how ridiculous they look when he tears a single slice of bread in half for each to use. A laugh bubbles up and escapes, Dean dangling the halves.

Cas skews his head to the side, an adorable gesture Dean missed with a fury. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’,” he tells him, handing the bread over, “Just excited for what we’re making.”

“I _ doubt _ that’s the case.”

“But I am!” Dean says, dumping the bread-half into a pot he transferred his earlier mixture into, “If _ you’re _ not, then maybe admit that whatever _ I’m _making is gonna taste better.”

Squinting, Cas stands firm. “Mine will be a thousand times more delicious than yours.”

“Those’re fighting words.”

“Than consider us _ fighting _.” Dean almost winces, except he’s distracted by the smallest twitch of Cas’s lips. Cas smirks at Dean and nearly causes him to crumple into a sad mess. He wills the tears down and accepts the challenge.

Time passes faster after that. Dean snatching spices from Cas’s hands before he could grab them. Cas shoving Dean when he carries his stew to the table, knocking him off path and almost dropping the entire meal across the floor. Both of them pressed against one another as they searched the pantry one final time, Cas like a scalding iron rope to his side.

He sprinkles little leaves he tore from a plant Sam bought when Cas calls over to him. “Yeah?”

“I want your opinion on something?”

Dean turns, seeing Cas hold a frying pan full of gummy bears over a simmering flame. “What are you doing?” he asks, barely able to through the fit of giggles.

“I’m _ trying _ to make a jam for my meal,” Cas explains, mirth coating his own voice, “but I’m not certain how long I should hold the gummy bears over the fire?”

“Hold on,” Dean says, grabbing a stray book they found in their race to find every edible thing in the kitchen. He flips it open to a random page and pretends to read. “It says… as long as you want, and as hot as you think.”

“Wow, that’s…” Cas leans towards Dean, grinning, “_ adventurous _.”

Dean basks in the warmth of Cas’s joy, carefree playfulness dipping lower. Replaced by a soft wonder while he marvels at a version of his former angel he was barred from seeing. Cas stirs the melting gummies carelessly, like the other day he didn’t scowl at Dean until he fled from the library.

Watching Cas indulge in a silly waste of food reminds Dean that he loves this being with all his heart. No matter if he has his wings or not, his heart latched onto Cas and can’t be pried off.

“Dean?” Cas asks, halfway to where the rest of his food waits with the pan in hand, “Dean are you okay?”

He sniffles, wiping his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, “Peachy… you about done?”

“Almost. Have to layer this on and… _ perfect _!”

Dean walks to where Cas waits, studying their finished products. His stew bubbles with foodstuffs floating inside, not dissolving because they can’t. Meanwhile Cas’s meal, smothered in the congealed flesh of a hundred gummy bears, looks as unappetizing.

“This looks,” Dean’s nose scrunches in distaste, “this looks _ awful _.”

“Agreed.”

Sneaking a peek at Cas he sees his former angel already looking at him. Gazes locked, they goad each other into a fit of raucous laughter until Dean leans on the table for support and Cas’s arms are wrapped around his stomach.

Cas winds down, straightening and glancing around the room. “All this hard work for what… nothing? We made _ quite _the mess…”

His smile vanishes, Dean not needing to look to agree with him. Nerves returning, tensing and knotting over each other, he thinks about the past ten years of their relationship. “I wouldn’t say it was for _ nothing _, though…”

“Right,” Cas sighs, tapping at his thigh, “anyway, we should clean it up.”

“About time, right?”

“So if you want to grab the mop, I’ll -”

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

Startled, he whips around to face Dean. Cas’s brows draw in close, jaw hanging, disbelief painting his features. “What?”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he says, reaching for Cas’s hand, “for what I said after we fixed the hole in Hell. For pushing you away when you needed us… needed _ me _ to be there for you, after Jack, after Chuck -”

“Dean,” Cas pulls away, drifting backwards, “Dean you… I know you were hurting, but- “

“Cas, please,” Dean follows him, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, “I need to… I need to get this all out. The first time it was easy, you not being there but now it’s… it’s taking everything I have and -”

“The first time?” Cas asks, “What… what do you mean?”

Dean chuckles, rubbing the palm of his hand against one eye. “I prayed, Cas… I prayed to you. Prayed the hardest I’ve ever done in my life, for the slightest chance you might listen.” he sobs, curling in on himself. “Listen to me admit to being an ass. Being _ ungrateful _ to you, not being able to give you confidence that you _ mattered _ to me. Because you do… so, _ so _ much. Cas, I…”

He huffs, black tendrils squeezing around his lungs. Dean powers through it. “We’d lost mom… Jack… and then Rowena I… I knew it wouldn’t be long until you’d be taken from me, too. You always are. So I pushed. Picked at every little thing hoping you’d get fed up and leave. Although a part of me knew you’d take whatever I threw at you - you always have. Until you didn’t. And I haven’t been the same - haven’t been _ whole _since.”

“Dean -”

“So many chances,” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, smearing more tears onto his skin. “So many chances wasted… when I didn’t say what I should’ve or didn’t act on desires that I had…”

“Desires?” Cas asks, inching forward, “What… desires?”

Dean rises enough to face Cas, the other man deserving it given the enormity of the next few sentences. “I love you, Cas. I think I always have, but when I realized it I did _ nothing _ about it. And if you don’t love me I can live with that. If you _ did _ love me but don’t anymore, I can live with that, too. Because you don’t own _ any _of the blame. It’s all on me. Cas… you don’t make everything go wrong. Hell… you’re one of the only people who make life seem all right.”

The audio loops to the beginning, and the guitar strums echo in the silent kitchen. All the darkness eating at Dean’s insides fade and his muscles loosen from the tight grip remorse held them in. As time ticks forward and Cas remains frozen by Dean’s confession, the rushing heat of embarrassment licks up his neck.

“Right,” he mutters, edging away, “you… that was a lot for you… I think I’ll go, find that mop for you -” A hand snakes around his wrist, “Cas? What’re you -”

Lips crash into his, draining every thought from his mind. Castiel steps into his space, tugging him closer while his other hand caresses Dean’s face. Dean responds in kind, lids fluttering shut as he laces his arms over Cas’s shoulders.

Cas breaks the kiss with a pant, foreheads pressed together. “I love you, too, you idiot,” he growls, staring into his soul, eyes aglow even though it shouldn’t be possible anymore. “I love you so much… leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Not a day went by where I didn’t think of you either you… you…” Words failing, he embraces Dean once more.

They gasp for breath afterwards, Dean half-sitting on the table between their two dishes.

“So,” Dean starts, “where do we go from here?”

“I… I don’t know,” Cas says, “We can’t go back to how we were before -”

“_ Clearly _.”

“Not like that,” he sighs, brushing his nose across Dean’s, “I mean… if you’re having a problem, you cannot take it out on me again -”

“I’m a changed man, Cas,” he promises, “I… I’ve lost you already - too many times - but this? This was the worse… Because of me. Because I was a coward… I _ choked _ . Now… I swear if _ anyone _ tries to tear us apart I’ll beat them up.”

Cas offers a small smile. “Even yourself?”

“You kidding?” Dean scoffs, grinning, “I know his every weakness.” This time Dean initiates the kiss, slowly, so he can study the way Cas’s lips feel, how they taste, and what emotions they stir inside Dean.

Suddenly they hear a voice not too far away. “Dean? Dean… I got your stupid groceries, man. Come on and help. I texted you, like, an _ hour _ ago…”

Cas squeezes Dean’s wrist. “Sam…”

“I know,” he sighs, “Kid’s _ always _ been a cockblock…” Looking past Cas, Dean sees the disorganized kitchen for the first time. A wicked idea pops into head, and the blissful smile on his face falls into something more wicked. “Hey,” Dean whispers, “Let’s run away together.”

“Run away?” Cas asks, “But I just came home.”

Dean powers through the squeal building in his chest hearing Cas call the Bunker ‘home’ to explain, “No… we’re not running far. Down the hall and to my room s’all.” Adding an eyebrow wiggle helps communicate his message to Cas.

“_ Oh _.”

With blinding speed Cas drags Dean from the kitchen, fleeing through the other exit seconds before Sam enters. Over their laughter and the continued music playing from Dean’s laptop, they hear the younger Winchester groan.

“Seriously? Dean, this isn’t funny… Dean? _ Dean _!”

**Author's Note:**

> So? What did y'all think?
> 
> Let me know by dropping a kudos/comment below! :D


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